Cold Spaghetti

There is no way I’m ready for a return of the New Kids.

We weren’t up for braving the rain Friday night, nor the cold Saturday afternoon.

We did get out Saturday night (see post with loot, below), but didn’t go with all the gear until Sunday. Minor error in that we thought both parades rolled up Napoleon… in fact, Carrollton rolls down Napoleon and King Arthur rolls up. But give us credit: we figured it out before the WDSU channel 6 guy did (and boy, was he pissed).

Paul and the kids, with the ladder, on the corner of St. Charles and Napoleon (obviously.)
Looking up Napoleon. See the King’s float ahead?

Queen of the Krewe of Carrollton. (Each time we see a Queen of Krewe float, Will calls out, “that’s just like Ana!”)
Kids and Paul. We did get a “My wife is from Norway and HAS TO KNOW WHERE YOU GOT THOSE HATS” regarding the head-gear. They were $3 from MardiGrasOutlet.com out of Baton Rouge. Supplier to all our bling this year. (We got 3 of the helmets to go with our Mardi Gras Superhero themed costumes, which are still in-the-works for Friday’s debut.) Kate was all eyes for the parade. (Note that she is wearing different mittens on each hand — her request — and the multicolored one MUST go on the right hand.)

Floats, throws, and riders.






Kate’s favorite throw of the afternoon was this crawfish, which she held in a vice grip for the remainder of the parade.


These cops hung out on the corner chatting through the whole parade. I was sure one of them was going to get accidentally bonked on the head by a throw.

Right after Carrollton, we quickly moved a few blocks down Napoleon away from the congestion at the corner of St. Charles. This stretch of the start of most parades, in the neutral ground on Napoleon, is our favorite area for parade watching.

Side note: We’ve heard that folks can rent port-a-potties for the Mardi Gras season… according to the forums, you can’t put a rented port-a-potty on the neutral ground. But we saw at least two with “private” signs and locks on them — one of them was marked as a fundraiser for a local school! We are totally looking into getting a potty next year. Anyone have more detailed 4-1-1 on this?

We set up near this awesome viewing platform. I totally want Paul to build one. I have no idea how we would store or transport it. I think we’d have to leave it out the whole season in the neutral ground chained to our rented port-a-potty.
Once moved to the new location, Kate was OVER the parades. She was DONE with being on the ladder. See her below? She is trying to strangle herself with beads. Even Will was begging for her removal.She was all about climbing the ladder. Until she realized the bounty on the ground around her.
Paul took a few pictures of the parade while I wrangled squirmy Kate.

She was so squirmy that we couldn’t get her back up on the ladder, even for snacks. Finally, I wised up and realized she had a serious diaper. Damn… and we were without the diaper bag! (Totally my fault!) I took her to a church across the street that was selling food (i.e.: location for napkins) and scooped out the mashed mess as best as I could. This helped her remain somewhat content until the end of the parade.

Paul took this great picture of the cars across the street and managed to get me and Kate in front, walking back from the scary diaper incident.
After the diaper, Kate spent the rest of the parade playing Mardi Gras scavenger, picking up all the beads strewn through the grass. She then found every dog within the 6 blocks up and down Napoleon and proceeded to give each animal all of the beads she found. I’m not kidding. She even took my beads off to give them to a Golden Retriever she particularly liked. I drew the line when she started to dig beads out of an ant pile. (I think she was more unhappy with my interference than she would have been if an ant had bit her.)

Finally, the parade was over and we headed out. This is how we roll… Kate in the stroller and Will on the ladder:

Will LOVES this fish from King Arthur. He brought it to school and slept with it at nap time today… he loves it THAT MUCH. So thanks, rider from King Arthur!!!
Happy Mardi Gras!

When walking with Kate, one must be very careful. This is because she will move, as fast as possible, toward any animal she sees… especially if it’s a dog. This includes, but is not limited to, dogs walking down the street, dogs walking across the street, dogs in a house down the block, dogs whizzing by in a car, and dogs that Kate makes up in her imagination.

To interrupt Kate’s love-fest with a dog, you will need to physically remove her from the animal. This will result in THE POUT.THE POUT may last an especially long time, at least until she is re-united again with her animal love, or is found a suitable replacement. Her brother qualifies as a suitable replacement. As does her family “gato,” Scout. Her Daddy and Mommy do not.

When faced with THE POUT, one needs constant vigilance. THE POUT gives her certain super-powers aimed at circumventing all attempts of control. This includes, but is not limited to, kicking, running, fussing, wiggling, and going boneless. Note picture below: she is Assuming The Position. Prepare for defensive maneuvers.

The more I do this PhD thing, the more I learn. Don’t confuse this with being trained in your field; that stuff you learn in a post-doc. PhD learning is about learning how to get through a PhD. Unfortunately, I’m not proving to be the best learner in this area… I’m too determined to actually gain something from my experience and catching on a little too late.

Today’s lesson: there is a reason why PhD students do not do independent research. PhD students are better off piggy-backing something on a Professor’s work agenda because that is THE ONLY WAY TO GET ANY F&%$*!NG attention.

If I weren’t okay with just charging ahead on my own with no direction whatsoever, or practiced at getting feedback and advice from other areas (read: other universities, departments, persons outside my chair), then nothing in my degree program would ever happen.

People are often surprised when we send bags of Mardi Gras loot — how much do you get from a parade? — is a common question. This photograph, taken hastily, is an attempt to answer that question.

This represents part of the Saturday night Uptown parades… floats 16-18 of Sparta and the entire Pegasus parade. We went as is… just walked up, no step-stools or ladders. Will sat on Paul’s shoulders and I held Kate. We were out for maybe 90 minutes; including a 25 minute stall towards the end of Sparta when a float somewhere up the line had a technical malfunction. The parades include horses, live bands (including our neighbor, Mitch –no, not that one–, with Michael Hurtt and the Haunted Hearts), drum lines, high school bands, and a ton more.

Favorite throws of the night featured in the pile below included a purse with a big butterfly on it (Kate has been carrying it around non-stop all day); a huge spear (we hid it almost immediately); a pirate set complete with treasure chest, coins, earring, and dagger; huge stuffed dolphin; Sparta Trojan horses; Pegasus horses (with red manes and blue sashes); a huge snake; four footballs; and a soft plush beanie “gato.” Granted, this is a pretty decent haul for essentially one parade… but it isn’t uncommon by any means.
What do we do with all this stuff??? Well, we will divide them this week. Broken strands, stuff we don’t want, and excess pieces get donated to local charities who re-string them or use them in project-based fundraisers. A huge portion of the stuffed toys and footballs will be thrown in the Abeona parade (it’s tough for the kids to throw beads, since they tangle, so they mostly throw cups and stuffed toys). The collectables and favorites get added to their current toys — most of the them go with the puppet show animals that they play with. Other favorite throws are packed and sent to friends all over the world. We keep beads and other shiny traditional throws on hand year-round for care packages.

Still more get packed away in “rainy day” boxes. These come out on icky days for imagination play, the whole costume box (many of which I wore in junior high and high school, ranging from my Alice in Wonderland dress made by Grandma Betty to the purple dress my Mom wore in her high school portrait to a skunk costume to a Betty-Boop mask) plus the Mardi Gras masks, hats, beads, and accessories. Who doesn’t love dress up? I feel certain that every household in NOLA shares the common bond of having these boxes of fun tucked away in the backs of their closets.

The guy who draws PhD Comics, Jorge Cham, came through New Orleans on a trip to the Gulf Coast and wrote a comic about some of what he heard and saw in his most recent installment. Click on the comic to go directly to it on the web:

Will (4 years, 2 months)

Listening, as understood by Will, is when you HEAR something and then DO exactly OPPOSITE what you have just been told. Action should be immediately followed by a cute, snappy phrase. Example:

scene: in the kitchen, making snacks for school
Me (giving Will the spoon for stirring): “Remember, it’s not sanitary to taste the dough before baking.”
Will (stops stirring, brings spoon to lips): “I’m just going to give this a little taste….”
Me: “WILLL!!!!!!”
Will: “That is TOO GOOD!”

Honesty, as understood by Will, is admitting that when you tripped your sister, you did it because that it exactly what you meant to do… because you realize that your Mom or Dad or Grandparent watched the entire scenario unfold. Example:

scene: in Granna’s bedroom, Will rolls over the floor to slam into Kate from behind, who buckles and crumples to the floor
Granna: “WILL! What happened!?”
Will starts to say I don’t know…
Granna: “WILL. Be HONEST. What was in your heart when you rolled to Kate?”
Will: “That I wanted to knock her down.”

Favorite Food: Hamburgers.
Favorite Song: Clean My Room by the Imagination Movers
Favorite Art Endeavor: Drawing Superheros and Bunnies
Second Favorite Art Endeavor: Tape.
Preferred Form of Parental Torture: Hearing what you say, but ignoring it
Preferred Form of Sibling Torture: I have it, you can’t have it
Favorite Show: The Wonder Pets
Favorite Story: Bartholomew and the Oobleck; “I Love You More” Stories
Favorite Song to Sing: Feed the Birds
Second Favorite Song to Sing: Sing
Favorite Conversation Subject: Reasons why we should let him watch “Star Wars”
Favorite Good Kid Activity: Cleaning up the kitchen table, setting the table before dinner
Cuddly of Choice: Big Toe (Ugly Doll)

Kate (20 months)

Please, according to Kate, is what you say very sweetly when you want to take away whatever Will has. Example:

scene: in the car, Will is looking at a piece of mail and Kate decides she wants it
Kate: WHINE….
Us: “Kate, use your words.”
Will: “She wants my flyer. But I am looking at it.”
Kate (in the sweetest voice possible): “Peeze, Woll, Peeze.”

Learning to speak, according to Kate, is a thoughtful process where one chooses which words and phrases to say and which to completely ignore, no matter what. Case in point: Kate will happily repeat “DAMN” after I utter it upon stubbing my broken toe, but will not ever, under any circumstance repeat the phrase “THANK YOU,” no matter how many times we parrot it to her or what bounty we hold out to encourage it.

Favorite Food: Cheeseburgers.
Favorite Song: The Monster in the Mirror (the “Wubba” Song) as sung by Grover
Second Favorite Song: Elmo’s Song
Favorite Art Endeavor: Paint.
Second Favorite Art Endeavor: Glue.
Preferred Form of Parental Torture: The Supersonic Screech.
Preferred Form of Sibling Torture: I must do whatever you are doing. Right. Now.
Favorite Show: Elmo.
Favorite Story: Elmo. A plus if Elmo has flip-up windows.
Favorite Rhyme: Ring Around the Rosie (really likes that “fall down” part at the end)
Favorite Conversation Subject: Emmy. (“Ehh-mee,” with accent on first syllable.)
Favorite Good Kid Activity: Giving her brother hugs
Cuddly of Choice: Elmo. And Ugly Dog.

On Sunday, we slept until 9am, 8am Central Time, had breakfast and ventured in the 20-degree, clear sky D.C. day. Paul feared of frostbite at every turn, with good reason, since I was dragging him all over hillsides and sidewalks. We walked down to The Marine Corps Memorial, which I had never seen in person. I am embarrassed to admit it: but I didn’t even know it was in Virginia (I assumed it was near the memorials along the Mall area.) I also didn’t know it was so. damn. big. The thing is huge! After seeing it so many times in pictures, I was a little caught off guard when I noticed a lump in my throat looking up at it. It is surprisingly moving in person. (It is also surprising that the photograph of the monument on the National Park Service website is marred by a huge street sign in back of it. Yikes!) Can you see the Washington Monument peaking out to the right of the monument? It’s a beautiful view into the District from this hillside.Then, after a 5 minute detour due to being lost, we headed into the District. We ended up hitting Independence almost all the way at the Capital, at the end of the Mall. A parking space magically appeared and we took it as a sign we should get out and go to the Museum of the American Indian.
If you went to public school in the United States, chances are pretty high that you know next to nothing about American Indians. By American Indians, or Native Americans, I mean in indigeous peoples whose residence in the Americas (South America, Central America, and North America) pre-date European settlers. What I know about Native Americans I learned mostly by going cross-country with my family when I was 16 (our first family vacation, but that is another story). The bottom line of this learning was that I uncovered the horrible truth: we (European settlers and early White Americans) were shit-heads to Native peoples and are country continues in this legacy to this day. Somehow this message got watered down in schooling.

Side note… One Big Reason for this, incidentally, was because Lynne Cheney (AKA: the Antichrist) during her tenure as the Director of the National Endowment for the Humanities in the 80s (*shutter*… a Reagan appointee… one of the many reasons that the nostalgia over ‘the Reagan years’ makes me hurl), she was hell-bent on an agenda for the design of teaching standards in American History. She advocated for “America-first” curriculum which heavily favored teaching U.S. students of the good ‘ole days when our country’s leaders were limited to wealthy, land-holding white men who own black slaves and discussed the merits of whether or not it was wise to let women learn how to read. Any type of programming which challenged the idea of the Destiny of America as some sort of Divine province worked against this ethnocentric vision. Programs which logically and realistically portrayed Native peoples or showed the happenings of history in a less-than-rosy light were Not Part of The Plan. So if you grew up thinking, “jeez, I know we’ve made some bad moves with Native Americans, but it’s all good, ’cause we’re the good guys!!” then you’ve got Lynne Cheney to thank. (Side note: she would rally against this very program when it was altered after her tenure at the NEH and later, she would advocate for the de-funding of the entire program. I watched her testimony on Capital Hill while I was a federal employee at the NEH’s sister agency, the NEA.)

Anyway, if you grew up in the Lynne Cheney bubble, there is a cure. This museum. It is fantastic.

The inside has a huge open atrium that circles up (not unlike the Hirschhorn) — like the inside of a huge hive. I only took A Photograph inside (below, of an Aymara Reed boat).

We didn’t have enough time to enjoy all of the exhibits but were incredibly impressed with what we did see. I think my favorite exhibit was on the Contemporary Lives and Identities of Native Peoples, focusing on several tribes (the Igoolik in Canada and Pamunkey in Virginia are the ones that I can remember). The honesty and clarity within the presentation of materials was striking. Other areas that stood out were pieces that illustrated the impact of disease in Native peoples as a result of Contact (a word capitalized through exhibits) and the immense quantities of gold and treasures stolen. The range of quotations, thoughtful and memorable soundbites, and video clips were impressive. The Museum is a beautiful tribute to what must have been an incredible creative partnership. I strongly recommend taking the kids and giving it a go… can’t wait ’til our kids are old enough to appreciate this sort of thing.

***
Across Independence was the Department of Education (where we parked) and after dragging Paul around the Mall, I noticed the little read school houses covering every entrance of the building. I had to get a closer look.

See the bell? It’s a school bell from Milford, Pennsylvania. The plaque reads:

How nice! It’s to symbolize the Mission of the Department of Education to provide a quality education to all American children. What is that, in back of the bell? Those little red houses? What do they symbolize? A closer look:

Expensive edifices with no purpose, reminding us that the No Child Left Behind program reigns this country. You know, the program that works fitfully against the message on the “enduring symbol” emblazed on the monument that sits in front of the building. Ack! The irony!

***
We drove more around the District (read: got lost a lot) and finally determined that it would be too long of a walk to see the WWII memorial. Instead, we drove down to Hain’s Point, stopping along this bridge, by the George Mason Memorial.

Hi George!
Finally, we got to Hain’s Point (read: got lost and almost couldn’t find it). The Awakening was still there. The sky was crystal blue and we were the only ones there. (See that red car in the corner? That was the Ford Mustang the rental agency upgraded us to when we gave her Mardi Gras beads at check-in.)
Looking out Hain’s Point.
Will would have LOVED this sculpture.
***

It took us about 30 minutes to get the airport (26 minutes were lost) and we had an easy trip back (read: there were no kids to wrangle). Great trip!

One of the people I most enjoyed was a wife of one of Paul’s cooler co-workers, who is the Department head of the Math Department of a local high school and teaches AP Calculus and AP Statistics. She and I were discussing the importance of women in Mathematics and Sciences when she came out with this: “I have a class of 28, and each year, about 21 of them are female and all of them consistently outperform their male peers. Our student government is always female. So what I want to know is: WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN COLLEGE????”

A brilliant question placed so nicely within the observations and experiences of someone who faces it everyday. What is happening to women?

Once upon a time, Paul and I made similar observations about friends and acquaintances, noticing that they shared the same college: we joked that this particular university had a curious way of beating dreams and aspirations out of women. This particular university is also well-known for having faculty who openly have flirtations and affairs with students — and write about it — and maybe this isn’t a coincidence. What happens in college, and what happens after, and why is it so toxic to the promising potential in the talents of women?

Maybe it isn’t necessarily what happens in college, but is instead what happens afterward? She gets hired by Company X and gets stuck working with the guy with the roaming hands. This guy is pervasive everywhere and is typically one that everyone seems to like (or is maybe tolerated out of some strange peer-pressure fear), and while it’s well-known that he is inappropriate, he remains untouched by an indifferent management (make the environment more friendly to women? what is that a requirement of management?) Worse, he may be her boss. Or, her boss totally ignores her, calling in for the first time on the day she resigns. She gets paid less than her male peers, receives less promotions, and is hounded on her personal life (marriage and kids makes a working girl distracted, ya know.) Are all of these things illegal? Well, maybe, but they are all active and real… as part of corporate culture as power ties and pumps. Maybe my use of the word ‘corporate’ unfairly fingers business, which is not my intent: it is even worse in academia.

So what does the world offer to women, professionally? Well, I’d argue it offers all that it offers to a man — at a reduced pay, of course — IF the woman is willing to act like a man.

For a woman to be successful, she must remain aloof, act tough, rough, and hard (which will label her a “cold bitch” but is preferred to the alternative, patronizing treatment). She is constantly observed for signs of female-ness: did she marry, buy a house, or (gasp!) have a baby!? These are all connected to risk within the robot-male business model, where one must have no emotion to any thing but the job, dedicate all time to it, and reject life outside of work. Forget that 30 hours a week of work is the most efficient, connected to more completed in a work week, healthier employees, and a better overall company: you are required to be at work, even if you’re not doing anything at all, 12 hours a day, everyday. Not performing at this level is a feminine slip, a sign of weakness, and shows lack of dedication. Want to push back that 4pm meeting to 3pm so that you can make Tommy’s soccer game? Tisk, tisk… your priorities are all messed up. (Incidentally, if your male boss makes the same request, he’s just “being a good Dad.”)

A day of sexual harassment, hours and hours of extra work with little reward, pay out of whack with peers, and diminished opportunities for advancement… who would willing and openly choose this life? Staying home with babies (who actually need to be with their Mothers for more than the ridiculous 6-week window) does not sound like a “choice” but a rational path made by smart women who are lucky to have enough resources available to them so that they do not have to endure the torture of a sexist, hostile work environment.

If the work world was structured to be family friendly: to offer part-time opportunities with benefits (or have university health care so that benefits were not a requirement for families), and work options that allowed for quality jobs with less hours and more flexibility; if maternity leave was reasonable; if childcare was affordable and on-site for nursing mothers… in short, if women and families were valued, then I believe more women would remain in professional positions in all fields. Women “choose” to leave the work force because there is no other choice to make. I don’t think it a coincidence that so many women have part-time independent businesses, photography studios, craft endeavors, design consultant services: these are flexible areas where women can control their professional lives. Signs that women want to continue to develop themselves outside of their family identity and responsibilities, but cannot do so in the professional world. So they look for other places to do so.

So what happens to women to take them out of mathematics and sciences (and the professional world, in general?) Well, they get beaten. Enough licks and anyone with a ripcord will pull it to get out.

The whole situation sucks for men, too, who are expected to work, expected to find well-paid employment to support a family, expected to work too much, and expected to not notice that they are missed at home. What would it take to re-think how we work and who we expect to work? Is it too much to encourage young women to think beyond a life in homemaking and allow men to pursue art or craft-making without looking at him as irresponsible?

Not really. Just thought it summed up the weekend.

We’re back. Some lessons:

— Flying without children is a treat, no matter what happens. You can sleep, read, use the bathroom, and actually have that bag of pretzels and cranberry juice from the attendant. These are true luxuries, even when they happen in coach.
— Shots pushed into your hand from someone who maybe a boss of your spouse is a very different type of peer pressure. Especially when you’re the one in the room giving out Mardi Gras beads.
— I have become the one who can handle cold. Paul complained of impending frostbite in the 20-degree weather on Sunday (granted, that hard wind was bitter, and I was dragging him all over monuments on exposed hillsides) while I surrendered winter gear to ease his pain. Make no mistake: the cold still hurts, but I didn’t find it particularly bad — and my ears were as exposed as Paul’s and I was wearing less layers and a lighter jacket. Still, I was shocked when (I-love-hockey) Paul admitted, “there is no way we can ever move to back Michigan.” Either he drank so much the night before that his thinned blood couldn’t take the cold, or my cross-campus marathons over iced paths and brutal winds hardened me more than I thought. It was a surprise: as long as the sun is shining, 20 degrees and freezing winds are no huge deal to me.
— We really do love DC. We mean that as DC, the area across the Potomac, where one is taxed without representation. There is no great desire to live there, although we admit that living in the District would not destroy us. Paul is perhaps less interested in the idea as me (and by interested, we mean “not 100% against the idea as something to do if we had to” and by had to, we mean “otherwise would suffer ignoble destruction”) — mostly this is because he is certain that the likelihood of the city being hit by a Really Big Bomb in our lifetime is at the same level of risk of New Orleans’ flooding once again. We’ve done one of the two and would like to stay with experience.

The point of the trip was for Paul and I to attend his company’s post-holiday (“no, we always planned it to be a post-holiday”) party. Thank goodness for the post-holiday idea, which is a brilliant one. Bummer was that it coincided with Krewe du Vieux and blasted those plans. But it was too hard to not take the opportunity: professionally, socially, politically.

The party was at Clarendon Grill, set in a flashy area of Northern Virginia located near Metro stops and built up with all the accouterments of the urban yuppy: huge Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Whole Foods, Container Store, and even an Apple Store… all glowing new and shiny with ‘clean lines’ and ‘simple design.’ It’s a fun area; young and hip, single and swinging. The hotel was perched on a hillside 2-blocks from Courthouse Metro and offered easy access to all the area’s offerings.

The party was fun, mostly because of some really cool and interesting co-workers. The rest of the fun was due to the incredible band, Gonzo’s Nose, a local cover band… a really, really, reeeally good cover band. You can’t have a bad time when them on the stage, nor can you avoid the dance floor all night (although Paul gave a valiant attempt, he eventually gave in over “Jessie’s Girl” and once broken in, became a permanent fixture to the pit). We brought throws in the requisite Endymion bag… beads of all types, a light-up crawfish, a few spears and tomahawks, Frisbees, some stuffed toys. Just a little NOLA spirit going out in party shwag.